


Christmas Miracles

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft reluctantly attends Sherlock and John's Christmas party. After all Rosie asked for him. But of course Greg Lestrade is there too..





	Christmas Miracles

Mycroft Holmes didn’t, as a general rule, attend family Christmas get-togethers. The last one had been that disastrous event at their parents’. 

But it was John and Sherlock’s first Christmas fully back in Baker Street and apparently Rosie had asked for him. And he’d hardly say no to that. She was nearly three now and it was truly wonderful to see Sherlock with her. He was grateful every day that John and later Rosie had come into his life. 

It also meant that, these days, he spent significantly less time minding his brother’s affairs. After the troubles at Sherrinford, he and Sherlock had reached a sort of equilibrium, or at least more of a mutual respect. Life was never entirely dull, but it had certainly grown quieter. 

He climbed the stairs now, hearing laughter and knowing that he was running a bit late. Hopefully, the wine would help make up for his poor manners.

The door was open wide. Of course it was Rosie that spotted him first, squealing and launching herself across the room at him.

Mycroft deftly managed to catch her with one hand and swing her up onto his hip, all without dropping his bag or umbrella. “Hello Rosie,” he said, kissing her forehead. Such a public show of affection would have been unimaginable a few years ago, but Rosie had a knack for melting the iciest façade.

“Uncle Mycie!” She said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him.

“Let him breathe,” said John, taking the bag from Mycroft’s arm.

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft carefully set her down. “You’ll find a bottle of wine in there as well as the… other things.”

John nodded. “Ta.” He carried it into the kitchen, leaving Mycroft to get his first actual look around the room as he removed his coat.

Ms. Hooper and Mrs. Hudson were chatting near the window. Sherlock wasn’t presently in view, but would no doubt return in a moment. Ah, and Lestrade was standing near the crackling fire, evidently warming up from the outside chill.

“Glad you made it,” Lestrade said, with that irrepressible grin.

“Well, I could hardly say no when Rosie left a message on my phone.” Mycroft accepted the glass of wine John brought him. Sherlock appeared a few moments later, giving Mycroft a nod before sitting down with Rosie.

“They grow up fast, don’t they,” said Lestrade, watching the pair of them. 

“Children do tend to do that,” said Mycroft, following his gaze.

“Detectives, too,” Lestrade said, sipping his own drink. He turned his attention to Mycroft. “And how are you doing?”

“The same as always, Inspector.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Greg. If your brother can manage it, I know you can, too.”

Mycroft resisted rolling his eyes. “Greg,” he repeated. “Excuse me.” He moved away from Greg, quickly finding himself talking to Mrs. Hudson instead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greg and Molly falling into a conversation of their own.

Soon after, Rosie insisted on putting in a movie about an inn at holiday time and everyone gathered around to watch it. Mycroft had to admit that he hadn’t felt quite so much as part of a family in a long time. Things would always be a bit tense with Mummy.

Rosie started falling asleep near the end of the film. Mycroft volunteered to tuck her into bed and carried her upstairs. He got her changed into pajamas and settled under the covers. She yawned. “Story?” she asked.

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of the Seuss books from the nightstand. “Ah, _How Grinch Stole Christmas_ , a classic.”

Rosie listened as he read the story aloud, fighting to stay awake as her eyes drooped closed. He finished and smoothed her hair back. “Goodnight, Cindy-Lou Who,” he smiled softly.

She mumbled and snuggled the stuffed panda she slept with.

Mycroft turned off the light and headed back downstairs, finding the movie finished and everyone nibbling on cookies as they prepared to head out.

“She’s asleep,” he told John.

“You’re good with her,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mycroft pulled on his own coat.

“Do you need a ride home?” asked Greg.

Mycroft looked at him for a moment too long. “I suppose I do,” he said.

Greg grinned and Mycroft tried to ignore what that smile always did to his insides.

“Drive safe,” said John.

Greg stole a few last cookies and led the way downstairs. He passed one to Mycroft as they stepped outside, the winter cold swirling around them. Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets and led the way, humming a Christmas song that had featured in the movie.

“ _White Christmas_ ,” said Mycroft as they reached the car and Greg got the door for him.

“Not too many white Christmases around here, but yeah, I like it. Reminds me of Christmas as a kid. I can only imagine what that might have been like for you.” Greg gave him a smile.

Mycroft shrugged. “Adequate, I suppose.”

Greg got behind the wheel and glanced at him. “Adequate?”

“We followed the usual holiday rituals, exchanged gifts. Grandmother would take us to midnight mass.” Mycroft looked out at the quiet streets.

“Don’t seem like the religious types, but I suppose grandparents are like that. Mine were Catholic, so midnight mass was a requirement, and a few others.”

“I suppose it’s a side effect of growing older. Or living through the things they did.” Mycroft gave Greg directions as he pulled into traffic.

“Well, ‘there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” quoted Greg, glancing at him again. 

“I suppose.” Mycroft shifted his umbrella. “Do you have plans for Christmas?”

“Naw, not really. I’ve worked the last few Christmases so they’re insisting I take the day off this year. You?”

“I’m off, but no plans. We don’t usually do Christmas as a family,” Mycroft shrugged. “Rosie will probably want to come visit at some point, but then again, she might simply be distracted by her toys.”

“Well, she’s the right age for Christmas, after all.” Greg turned down a drive, looking at the houses they passed. “This is nice.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft. “That one there.” He hesitated. “Would you care to come in?” It would be the polite thing, after all.

Greg smiled at him again. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Mycroft was glad for the darkness of the car. As Greg got out he adjusted himself, then led the way to the door. “I’m afraid I don’t really decorate for the holidays,” said Mycroft, unlocking and leading the way in.

“It’s nice, though,” said Mycroft, taking in his surroundings.

“Thank you.” Mycroft led him into the parlor. A small Christmas tree did stand in one corner, as perfectly adult as everything else in the house. “Would you like tea…. Or something stronger?”

“A bit of scotch might be nice,” said Greg, taking the chair that Mycroft gestured to by the fireplace.

“There’s some logs if you want a fire,” said Mycroft, going to his decanter. “The embers should still be warm.”

Greg shifted to kneel on the hearth, grabbing a couple of logs. Mycroft watched him, hand stilling.

Finishing his work, Greg turned his head, catching Mycroft’s gaze, smiling softly at him.

Mycroft cleared his throat and tore his eyes away, pouring them each a drink.

“You know, Mycroft, I never mind spending time with you,” said Greg gently as Mycroft brought the tumblers over.

Mycroft swallowed hard and took a seat, watching Greg do the same. “You are certainly unique in that.”

Greg sipped his drink. Mycroft saw him relax, knowing the heat low in his belly wasn’t solely from the flames.

“I do know one Christmas wish I might make,” said Greg, meeting his gaze.

“And what would that be?”

“Dinner. You and I. A date, maybe.”

Mycroft wet his lips. “You’ve wanted that for quite some time.”

“Don’t have to be a brilliant Holmes to see that.” Greg finished his drink and put his glass aside.

“I think… I would like that,” said Mycroft, finishing his own.

Greg studied his face in the flickering light, then stood and crossed the gap between them. He leaned down and kissed Mycroft gently. He slowly pulled back. “So, dinner?”

“Tuesday at seven? I’ll pick you up.”

Greg smiled. “I’ll be there with bells on. Goodnight, Mycroft. I’ll see myself out.”

“Goodnight.” Mycroft watched him go and put his fingers to his lips, feeling the ghost of Gregory’s kiss. Perhaps Christmas miracles did exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to theartstudentyouhate for reading over and Beltainefaerie for the beta


End file.
